The Big Dumb Ride

Everesting. Triple Crowns. 24-hour solo races. Big Dumb Rides.

By my made-up definition, a Big Dumb Ride has you hovering just above an existential crisis; long hours in the pain cave, emotional fluctuations that have you questioning your purpose in life, and ultimately resulting in at least several hours of unfettered glory-basking.

A surprising number of us are into these misadventures. I recently attempted a BDR that had me wondering out loud, “Why the fuck do I do these things?” When I'm in the saddle for too many hours, fighting sideways rain, overcoming hallucinations, my fingers feel like cold hot dogs, I’m eating literally anything I can keep down, and trying to remember what my taint might feel like if it weren’t numb, it can be tough to remember what dragged me out there in the first place.

There is a ton of information on the “how” aspect of extreme exertion. Things like lactate threshold, how metabolic rates play into energy production, and VO2 levels make all the difference in elite athlete performances, but none of that really scratched the “why” itch for me. Most people seem to stumble into Big Dumb Rides without realizing they’re stepping into an entire underworld of cycling. With this in mind, I asked a few BDR veterans about their evolution into mega days on the bike. What got them there, what kept them going back for more, and what was their emotional experience?

Most of the people I spoke with found themselves taking on their first BDR by accident. They were curious to link one part of town to another via mountains, or in the case of one friend who only owned a BMX bike as a kid, wanted to visit a friend who moved 30 miles away, and thus his affinity for Big Dumb rides was born. Eric Olsen, no stranger to the BDR got his start by slogging around the Chuckanuts, a notoriously slow-going trail network that requires patience and plenty of wayfinding to achieve big numbers. Now his motivation falls primarily in the realms of exploration and functionality, noting, “I prefer to have a part of the route that is some tenuous connector that might be overgrown but if it works it will open up some new way of connecting two riding areas.” Eric took his affinity for BDR further than most as he rode from stop to stop during the 2022 EDR series in Europe and Tasmania in 2023. “I think the more you do BDR the more you realize that bikes are a very legit mode of transportation, not just a fancy toy that you have to drive to the trailhead.”

When I think of Big Dumb Rides Ben Hildred is the first person that comes to mind. Unlike the others, he did not discover these rides by fluke. In 2018 his curiosity was piqued by the idea of an Everest, where the rider ascends the same amount of vertical distance as Mt. Everest, often on the same loop over and over again without taking any significant breaks. His attempt was a success and, “It sparked a fire and desire to do more,” he recalls. And boy did he ever do more. His accomplishments include one million vertical feet in 200 days, a double Everest, and what he calls, “The Olympus Mons,” a three-day ride where he climbed 21,900 meters/71,850 feet.

His riding astounds me. Every time I’ve attempted a big ride, my emotional journey is all over the map. The other folks I spoke with all mentioned something similar. Euphoria. Tears. Rage. Doubt. Joy. My partner, Ryan Short, is an ex-roadie who has had an ongoing affair with Big Dumb Rides his entire adult life. A couple of years ago he rode from Bellingham to Spokane, WA in 23 hours on his road bike. That one was 350 miles and 17,000 feet of vert. He once Everested up the infamous Repeater Road* and down a technical trail on his XC rig while unknowingly having Covid. To him, Big Dumb Rides are similar to processing grief. There are so many emotional stages including fear, anticipation, the darkness of being not quite halfway through, the light at the end of the tunnel when you've reached beyond the midpoint, and then the ultimate: basking in the glory of the accomplishment. Tyrone Siglos, a Triple Everester from North Van has had a similar experience. “It’s a lot of time spent in your thoughts and reflection,” he says. “Feelings of doubt, imposter syndrome, and loneliness always creep in. But way more often it’s gratitude.”

Ben is cut from a different cloth, which may be why he’s found such incredible success in these endeavors. He doesn’t have emotional fluctuations during the ride but rather maintains a fierce focus. His waves come once the ride is completed. “I’ve always been solid and focused,” he says “I tend to be emotionless and aggravatingly stoic when they end. The emotion comes after when deprivation of food and sleep creates a nutritionally flared-up overwhelm that makes even the simple day-to-day tough. I find this to be a sweet irony as you’ve just proved you can bend your will to painful levels, and then blow out in this sense. It’s interesting.”

My pool of BDR veterans was split pretty evenly among men and women, and one major difference stood out with the women and their “why.” Every female who answered talked about the friendships forged when riding huge days. “The relationships you build while suffering are incredible. Unlocking those parts of the body and brain together is really bonding,” declares Jordan Larson, another BDR fan from Bellingham. “It’s part physical challenge. Part mental challenge. Mostly it’s spending all day outside on an adventure with friends.” Nikki Rohan, a BDR vet from Hood River agrees. “Long days on the bike with people I generally like is key. I do not have the personality or drive to do these rides solo. It feels good being out on bikes with humans who I deeply admire doing something physically hard.”

That wasn’t the case for the majority of the guys. Ryan feels that while having people there is a good support and bonding experience, he tends to hit his objective and push himself harder if he’s alone. Tyrone agrees to an extent, “For the triple-Everesting, arguably my biggest ride, there were a lot of people that dropped in to do a rep or two with me. For the other ones, I went solo. They each have their pros and cons. It was nice to have the company doing hill repeats but in hindsight, more was accomplished when I was riding alone during the night. Solo rides become very reflective after the 5/6 hour mark, and do a lot of internal healing during those efforts.  Most of the solo undertakings are solo because there's only so many people capable and wild enough to also try them,” he recalls.

If there’s one throughline for the Big Dumb Ride, it’s the end. I picture everyone riding across their invisible finish line with Jim Morrisson’s velvety voice floating through their head. The afterglow of completing a BDR is a feeling unlike anything else. “The peace, camaraderie, and ability to surprise myself during the beautiful process of using yourself and your machine further than you have before is so damn simple, but does so much,” Ben says. Exceeding the perceived limits of mind and body, forging deeper relationships, and soaking in the after-ride buzz of doing big stuff feels powerful. “Once you've experienced that feeling of accomplishment of planning a BDR that's on the edge of what you can do, and then pulling it off—it's pretty addicting,” Eric states. “It's the same feeling as mountaineering or other exploration.”

Hindsight is always a beautiful thing, and when thinking about advice I’d give myself before my first Big Dumb Ride, it usually comes down to pace and company. Go slow. Zone 2 all day. Ride with people you can stand to be around even when you’re both at your worst. Be ready for things to go wrong. Enduro racer, Ryan Gardner adds his own unique bit of advice, “It's all the mess ups and wrong turns that give you the best stories. Go be underprepared! Be underbiked and exhausted! Drink out of that stream only to later throw up in the shower and fall asleep eating dinner that night! It's good character building.” **

Ultimately, we want to see what our bodies are capable of, and what kind of mental fortitude we have. We want to prove that we can do dumb shit, even when no one is watching and there’s nothing on the line besides our own satisfaction of knowing that we did something big and dumb and awesome. That’s simple enough, but what if it’s actually because we’re stuck in a world where we’re surrounded by noise and the only time to truly cut it off is by forcing yourself into this quiet pain cave, where you’re either alone with your thoughts or with a suffering friend, and you can only rely on your body, your training, and your bike to get you back to comfort? The escape from the false reality of an online world comes to life when find yourself immersed in your breath, heartbeat, and fatiguing legs. Existential crisis and all.

Ultimately the, “why,” doesn’t need to matter, and there doesn’t have to be a particular reason. The idea is enough. It’s time to channel your inner Llewelyn Moss and tell yourself, "I'm fixin' to do something dumber than hell, but I'm gonna do it anyways.” Go get after your version of the Big Dumb Ride.

*Repeater Road sucks so much that it became the inspiration for the Transition Repeater.

** Perhaps don’t actually drink out of that stream... just a thought.